


Catharsis

by minxiebutt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Consenual nonconsenual, Edgeplay, F/M, Rape Fantasy, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxiebutt/pseuds/minxiebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He palms at her cheek repeatedly, and it takes her a few moments to understand that she’s crying without restraint. It’s her old soul, the child that was taken, stolen in the abandoned cabin years ago, in liquid form. It’s leaking from her brain down her tear ducts, and it feels so free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

Thunder cracks, shaking the windowpanes, and Mikasa slithers across the bed in search of solid warmth, almost falling off the edge. Her groggy brain kicks into overdrive then, realizing that she’s alone in bed at a time she shouldn’t be. But the whole of the house is dark.

 

“Levi?” she calls, quietly, slipping out of bed. The floors are cold with the night, so she tiptoes with her arms wrapped around herself. It’s not unlike him to sleep for a few hours and then head to his study to get work done, but he knows how afraid she is of lightning and thunder, and he usually makes a point to stay by her side on these nights. But his study is dark. Mikasa makes her way out of the hallway into the kitchen, where she can smell the faint aroma from dinner still hanging in the air.

 

She calls his name again, a little louder. He’s not in the garage, or the living room. Maybe he went out. That’s not uncommon, either. Her phone is on her bedside table, so she shuffles back in that direction. She’ll call him and see what he has going on, or what's bothering him. Drowsiness is still clouding her senses, making it a challenge not to bump into walls or furniture. Why is she this tired? This is unlike her. Thunder shakes the house again, and she freezes, shutting her eyes and drawing her shoulders in. Logically, she knows it’s childish. She shouldn’t be that afraid of a storm, even if--

 

The scream is leaving her lips before her body and brain catch up, and by the time they do, a large, cotton gag has been stuffed into her mouth. She’s forced to her knees in the hallway by a fist in her hair, and it cranes her head back to expose her throat. Cool metal settles there.

 

“What a pretty little girl,” her subduer says, his voice washing over her, calming her only the slightest bit. His fingers trail her neck, and he traces the blade over the invisible lines his fingers have left. “And so soft.”

 

Mikasa shivers, adrenaline fusing with her blood, pounding through her heart, and filling every inch of her body. Compared to her sleepiness just a few moments prior, she is alert and aware, her senses grasping every shred of stimulation. She tongues the gag for a moment, working it quickly until it plops out of her mouth and she gasps. Instantly, the knife that was content on her jugular leaves a stinging trail up to her mouth, forcing her to open her lips as it replaces the cotton. He's cut her, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to break the skin. 

 

“That's awfully bratty.” The empty hand slides from her hair to cup her jaw, and the man presses against her from behind, his familiar presence relaxing her despite the blade in her mouth. She should be afraid, but she isn't now. A tight, hot ball is growing in her, a mix of thrill and lust. “Are you going to scream again if I take this knife out?”

 

Mikasa shakes her head the best she can without cutting herself on it. It's large, curved, and serrated, a lot like Levi’s favourite. 

 

“Good girl,” he whispers, removing it as promised. She doesn't make a sound, doesn't move, waiting. Her heart has come back to its normal pulsing now, threaded with excitement but not the heavy thumping of fear. Another rumble from the storm, and she tenses. 

 

“What do you want?” She asks so quietly, it's little more than a shaky breath. The floorboards creak as he moves, her body cold without him pressed against her. Fabric snakes over her face, and she flinches. 

 

“I want to tie this blindfold on you,” he says calmly, jerking the fabric to tighten the knot. “Then I want you crawl to your bed and climb into it.”

 

He moves back again, and she can feel the pressure of the blindfold securely in place. Timidly, she places one hand in front of her, then the other, shifting her weight, moving slowly. A boot connects with her ass and presses her into the floor, flattening her. 

 

“That's a pathetic excuse of a crawl.”

 

And then she's being dragged on her belly by her ankles, away from her bedroom, back down the hallway. Mikasa shrieks, clawing for anything, her fingers slipping against the smooth finish of the wood. He stops again and presses the tip of the knife into the delicate underside of her chin, until she feels a drop of warm blood escape. 

 

“I thought you were going to be a good girl for me?”

 

Mikasa swallows, breathing shallow, and squeezes her eyes shut even though it makes no difference. She can't see, and she can barely hear over the return of the rush of blood in her ears.

 

“I'll be good,” she whimpers, moving to roll over but he presses the knife in deeper, opening the cut further. 

 

“You already had your chance.”

 

That piercing blade leaves her skin. Two hands roughly grab her hips, lifting them, stripping her of her panties. She's left in only a thin camisole. Strong fingers pinch her cheeks, involuntarily opening her mouth, and her underwear are pushed in. Mikasa jerks away from his hands, earning a firm palm to her backside. 

 

“If you spit those out, I'll choke you with my cock.” Both hands reassume their hold on her ankles. “You’re such a little whore, already wet.”

 

He's right. She can taste that savory slickness on her tongue. Mikasa whines against her panties, satisfied with the way it buffers the noise, and lets out a low moan while he drags her off. He stops, drops her legs, and lifts her beneath the arms to dump her unceremoniously on a solid surface. Instinctively, she presses her knees together, but they're quickly pried back open, with the command, “Touch yourself.”

 

A quiver ripples through her, and she curls her toes. She's never let Levi watch her pleasure herself, or anyone else. That's always been private, when no other means of satisfaction are available. 

 

“Did you hear me, you slut?” He grabs both her hands, roughly settling them over her sex. “Touch yourself.”

 

Mikasa swallows dryly and searches for her clit with the pad of her thumb. Ah, there. She inhales deeply. There. She brushes over it repeatedly, tensing her body to keep the shivers from showing, even though a moan is forcing itself out. 

 

“You're being very good for me, now, my darling.”

 

The praise encourages her. She slips two fingers in, jutting her hips, her jaw falling open. He takes her unoccupied hand, presses something long and hard in her palm, and he folds her fingers over it, guides it to her opening. 

 

“Fuck yourself on this.”

 

Obeying, she replaces her fingers with it, igniting that pool of heat. This is what she needed. Her hips thrust, finding a rhythm and an angle that boils her blood. She can feel an orgasm creeping up her spine, seeping into her brain--

 

\--!

 

Before she drops the tool, he takes it. He fishes the panties from her mouth. “I didn't say you could cum all over the hilt of my knife. Clean it off.”

 

Mikasa can feel the stickiness begging entry against her lips, and she dodges it, imagining in her mind where his hand would be, and quickly throwing herself at him. She successfully latches on to his bony wrist, sinking in her teeth for all her worth. 

 

Several things happen at once. There's a metallic clanging on the floor, a startled curse, and the sound of skin on skin. Her cheek burns, and her mouth is empty. 

 

Rough hands flip her over and she bangs her chin on the surface. She can smell the varnish of the dining room table-- the one she and Levi host guests at on holidays, not the kitchen table. That's where she is, then. 

 

“Why are you making this harder than it has to be?” He says, jerking her arms together at the small of her back and handcuffing them tightly. The metal bites into her skin uncomfortably and she tugs at the restraint until the cocking of a gun, right beside her ear, renders her still and limp. He presses the barrel into her temple, jeers, “That's what I thought, slut.”

 

She can't quite catch herself after that. She feels like a weightless spirit floating within her body, even as her ankles are tied to opposite legs of the table. Judging by the not-so-uncomfortable spread, she’s being bound the to head of the table. She relaxes her muscles, her head resting now, her vision spinning--

 

_ “You do?” Levi looked at her from over the rim of his mug, blank-faced and studying her. She fidgeted, suddenly so unsure of herself while he seemed so cool and collected. It took her weeks to gain the confidence to bring this up, but all she felt now was like a silly child.  _

 

_ But she wanted this, for a specific, fucked-up reason. She could see the gears of Levi’s brain working to come to a similar conclusion. Did her parents not love her enough after it happened? Is that why she had petitioned something so twisted to him? He stared longer than she liked, until he finally put his cup down and took a deep breath. “Mikasa, do you know what you’re asking?” _

 

_ “Yes.” Perhaps that was too direct, because honestly, she didn’t know. She didn’t know the depths to which she could go just to get off, feeling like she was tumbling deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. Was she going to hit rock bottom-- _

 

Each thrust makes her cry out in a way that speaks more of pain than pleasure, and she’s aching all over, stretched too far, too thin. Like a clairvoyant, now she understands just how little she knew when she asked Levi of this. She could feel the key making its way from her mouth, and she whimpered, “ _ Shoestrings _ .”

 

A strong hand pushes the sweat-slicked hair back from her face and pulls the blindfold up in the corner. There’s a light on somewhere nearby, and it bathes the room in enough glow for Mikasa to see Levi looking at her with concern. That little furrow of his brows has her murmuring  _ shoestrings _ again, and realization flashes there.

 

Either he’s moving fast or her senses are processing slow, because it feels like she’s uncuffed, unblinded, and untied simultaneously. Instead of collapsing, like she feels she will, Levi wraps his arms around her waist and guides her back, down onto the floor. She’s boneless and pliant in his grasp, puddling into his lap as he sits them down.

 

He palms at her cheek repeatedly, and it takes her a few moments to understand that she’s crying without restraint. It’s her old soul, the child that was taken, stolen in the abandoned cabin years ago, in liquid form. It’s leaking from her brain down her tear ducts, and it feels so free. 

 

Tenderly, carefully, he asks, “Is that what you needed?”

 

Mikasa chokes on a ragged sob, pushing into his chest, and nods.


End file.
